Black tentacles pulled at the diary's cover. Misaki felt the sensation of the leather binding tearing beneath her fingertips. Slowly. But certainly. In just a moment more, a hundred years of records would be—the words Reo had written for Lilia would be—torn to shreds. (If I let go, it's over. If I let go, everything ends.) Each throb of pain at the back of her head blurred her vision. The impact of her back slamming against the wall still reverberated through her entire body. The cold of the tentacles coiled around her arms was neither pain nor cold—it was the sensation of something grasping directly at her insides. Kurokage's split mouth opened wide again. In that instant—light burst through. A silver outline. A small, translucent form. It was Reo. He wedged himself between Misaki and Kurokage, pressing down on the diary with both hands from above hers. The tentacles coiled around both their hands. The cracks in Reo's arms deepened the moment they touched the mist. But Reo didn't move. Not even a millimeter. And then—Misaki saw it. Reo's hand outline became clear. The outline that had always been thin and blurred suddenly became sharp, solid. The diary grew slightly warm. That warmth reached Misaki's fingertips. (Warm. Reo is warm.) It was the first time. Until now, whenever she touched him, her hand would pass through or meet only empty air. But in this moment, there was unmistakably warmth. Reo didn't look at Misaki's eyes. He kept his gaze fixed on Kurokage, taking just one step forward. The mist coiled around Reo's body. The cracks in his arms spread further. Still, just one step. And then Reo moved his lips toward Kurokage. No sound came out. But Misaki could read his lips clearly. —Grandfather. I'm not afraid anymore. The mist trembled. The outline of Kurokage's form wavered slightly. Reo continued. Only with the movement of his lips, but unmistakably. —Lilia would say the same thing too. The next instant—the diary glowed. Not from the cover, but from every page. White light seeped out as if from each individual fiber of the paper, spreading throughout the room. Kurokage's black mist retreated from the light. And before Misaki's eyes, an image appeared. A garden. The garden of Harukaze Manor, a hundred years ago. In the summer light, a boy and a girl ran in circles. The boy chased a grasshopper, and the girl followed relentlessly behind him. The girl fell, and the boy turned back to offer his hand. Their laughter—though there should be no sound—somehow echoed in Misaki's chest. The next image. The girl held out a small pressed flower to the boy. A tiny white petal. The boy accepted it with a slightly embarrassed expression, but held it carefully in both hands. —The pressed flower found behind the floral wallpaper in Episode 3. So it was from this moment. Misaki leaned against the wall, unable to stop the tears from flowing. The next image. Night. Two figures gazing up at the moon through a window. The girl leaned against the boy's shoulder, both of them simply staring at the round moon. Their profiles were serene, happy, and very beautiful. (These are the memories Reo told me about. Chasing the grasshopper. Receiving the pressed flower. Watching the moon together. Everything he taught me little by little with picture cards—) It was all here. Misaki bit her lip and gripped the diary again. Her fingers trembled. The tears wouldn't stop. But her gaze never left the diary. --- As the images faded, the wall began to glow. Light particles seeped from within the wall. First one, then two. They gathered and gathered, gradually forming the shape of a person. A small outline. A round head. The build of a child about eight years old. It was Lilia. Misaki nearly cried out, pressing her lips shut. So—Lilia had been here all along. Inside the wall. Trapped by Kurokage, here for a hundred years. That's why Lilia's spirit never appeared in the manor. She couldn't move freely. Lilia's outline became clearer. Pale golden hair, round eyes, small hands. She slowly looked around the room, and then—she found Reo. Her expression changed. A hundred years of loneliness melted away in an instant, and her face showed it. Lilia ran. Toward Reo, without hesitation. Reo turned around. The moment he saw his sister's face, his translucent body trembled. His expression—the quiet, restrained face Reo always wore—crumbled. A hundred years of regret for failing to protect her was written all over his face. Lilia took Reo's hand. Reo couldn't move for a moment. He simply looked at Lilia's face, unable to move. But Lilia was smiling. Not angry. Not sad. Simply happy to see him, smiling for that reason alone. Eventually, Reo gently squeezed Lilia's hand in return. The two stood side by side, facing Kurokage. Kurokage's body shook. Cracks appeared in the black mist. From edge to edge, the membrane peeled away. A sound of something shattering—not a sound, but the sensation of shattering—spread through the room. The mist crumbled. The human form dissolved. From beneath it—something appeared. An old man. His back was hunched, his legs trembling. White hair, a face full of wrinkles, thin fingers. From beneath the ninety-centimeter black shadow emerged only a small, ordinary old man. Misaki saw that figure, and something moved deep in her chest. It wasn't hatred or fear. There was only loneliness in the old man's face. The loneliness of someone who couldn't be touched by anyone, couldn't connect with anyone, who had been alone for a hundred years—it seeped from his entire being. Reo took one step closer to the old man. Lilia came with him. The old man looked up. His trembling eyes—eyes that were there. No longer the black void, but human eyes that reflected light faintly—looked at Reo and Lilia. Reo gently took the old man's right hand. Lilia gently took the old man's left hand. The old man's lips moved. He tried to say something, but no words came. Only from his eyes—eyes he thought he didn't have—something like tears fell. Light particles began to spread. From the old man's body. From Reo's body. From Lilia's body. Three lights mingled together, enveloping the entire room. The weight that had accumulated outside the windows lifted all at once. The air changed. Temperature returned. To the ordinary air of a summer night. --- "[scared]Reo!" Her voice came out. She realized she was screaming. Reo's body began to glow. His outline blurred. Faded. Misaki pushed herself up from the floor and ran toward Reo. Her arms ached. The back of her head throbbed. Her legs moved faster than the pain. Reo stopped. In front of Misaki. He turned around slowly. His pale blue eyes looked directly at Misaki. Reo slowly extended his right hand. Toward Misaki's cheek. (He'll pass through. Of course he'll pass through.) Even thinking that, Misaki didn't move. He touched her. His fingertips touched Misaki's cheek. Really touched her. There was unmistakably warmth there. A soft warmth like a sunny spot on a summer afternoon. Misaki's tears came again. She couldn't stop them. They fell down her cheeks, wetting Reo's fingertips. Reo smiled. It was the most peaceful, the quietest smile she had ever seen. No regret, no fear, nothing. Just a serene smile. And then he dissolved into the light. Misaki reached out her hand. But there was nothing to grasp. Only light particles rising toward the ceiling. Lilia, in the same way, became light following her brother and disappeared. The room fell silent. The floral wallpaper was visible in the pale light of dawn. Pink flower patterns. What had been covered by black mist was now just an ordinary wallpaper, simply there. Outside the window, the sky was beginning to lighten. Night was breaking. Morning light streamed into Lilia's old room. "[serious]Misaki!" A voice came from outside the window. A flashlight beam tapped against the glass. Misaki walked to the window without wiping her tears. She unlocked it and pushed it open. Summer morning air flowed in. The smell of grass. The smell of earth. The smell of the living world. Kenta stood in the garden below the window. His greenish-black hair was illuminated by the morning light. Golden eyes looked up at Misaki's face and stopped for a moment. "[gentle]...It's over." When Misaki spoke, the tension drained from Kenta's expression. "[serious]I see." Just two words, but Misaki could hear the relief seeping through his voice. The entire manor felt lighter. It was indescribable, but the heaviness she had felt since the first day she moved in—the shallow suffocation that had accumulated on her back—was completely gone. Misaki turned back to look at the room once more. An empty room. Wallpaper with flower patterns. Morning light streaming through the window. The diary lay quietly on the floor. Misaki picked up the diary. She stroked the cover. The texture of leather settled into her palm. (Thank you, Reo.) She didn't say it aloud. But somehow, it felt like it reached somewhere. --- In the manor's garden, a cherry blossom bloomed out of season. Just one. On a branch of that great cherry tree over a hundred years old, a single white flower had opened. Cherry blossoms shouldn't bloom in early autumn, yet it was unmistakably there. In the living room before the fireplace, Misaki and Kenta sat side by side on the sofa. Reo's diary lay open between them. Misaki turned the pages. Her fingers moved slowly. She traced Reo's handwriting line by line. The day he chased the grasshopper. The smell of cookies. The day Lilia gave him the pressed flower. How much he loved the moon. The images the diary had shown her that night in the light, and the words written on the pages, overlapped in Misaki's mind. With each page turned, her eyes grew hot. The fireplace crackled softly. Outside, wind rustled the leaves. The old wooden floor of the living room creaked occasionally. A pressed flower was tucked into the first page of the diary. The small white flower found behind the wallpaper that day. The flower that had been there for a hundred years still retained its form. Kenta gazed silently out the window. The single cherry blossom in the garden swayed in the morning light. "[gentle]Just one is blooming." Misaki looked up. She gazed out the window. A white petal. A single cherry blossom floating against the autumn sky. (Reo. Lilia.) Her chest felt quietly warm. Not painful. Not sad. Just warm. The feeling that had reached somewhere remained warm in her heart. Then Kenta's hand moved. His hand rested gently on top of Misaki's left hand. Misaki was startled and turned to look at him. Kenta kept his gaze on the window. His ears were slightly flushed. Golden eyes quietly gazed at the single cherry blossom. He said nothing. He was simply there. Misaki looked at Kenta's profile. (This person was always with me. Even while claiming skepticism about the supernatural, he gathered evidence, spoke out loud outside, said I wasn't alone.) Something stirred gently deep in her chest. Misaki slowly squeezed Kenta's hand in return. His fingers gripped a little more firmly. Outside the window, the single cherry blossom swayed in the breeze. A single white petal fell. The courage Reo had given her remained warm in Misaki's chest. A hundred years of longing had completely dissolved into the sky today. Misaki's new morning was beginning quietly.